Invisible
by glaelia
Summary: Ansgt. She's alone, she's scared. what more can she do? Katie Bell/Oliver Wood. R for suicidal themes - OMG! i just got the nicest review. thank you so much XOX!! invisble is actually a one off. but Invisible to him is a fleshed out version, so go read!!!


b INVISIBLE - by glaelia /b  
  
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DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, I own their lives though. bwahhahaha. I can make them do exactly what I want!! Bwahahaha!  
  
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TO THE REVIEWERS! Okay. so I've only had one so far, but it was such a nice one :D thank you so much XOX, you truly made my day! Made me grin like an idiot and scare all the students coming into the library.. :D  
  
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IYou're either dipping your toe  
  
Or you're drowning Is it better never to start Than to bear the pain Of having to stop  
  
Halfway to the bottom Instantly forgotten  
  
I never thought it would come So easy I never thought it would go so quickly is it safer never to love than to risk your heart having to lose  
  
halfway to the bottom instantly forgotten I don't know Which way to go  
  
Is it wiser never to speak Than to raise your voice And never be heard  
  
Halfway to the Bottom - Aqualung/I  
  
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It hurts so much this pain inside. So much. Like a dead weight, hanging in my chest, clawing at my throat, scratching at my eyes. I sob. But the tears don't come. There are no more tears. Hurt. Pain. Anger. But no more tears. Emptiness. The weight leaves emptiness in its wake - a pain far worse. Nothing. Feel nothing. Think nothing. Empty. No more tears. I don't understand anymore, I should feel something, anything.  
  
I rise in a daze. Rub my dry eyes, sore, scratchy. My robes are creased and I straighten them carefully. Fear clenches around my heart and I stop. Did they hear me? Will they know? No. I smile grimly. They aren't here. They didn't stop to look. They're all gone to classes now. For a moment I smile, would they notice if I wasn't there? Would they care at all? Would they notice if I died? If I disappeared? No. One more smile. No they wouldn't. I'm already invisible. Invisible to them. A test, I decide. I'll test them to see if they notice. If they've seen. Turning, I pick up the pile of books and quills. I leave the dormitory quietly, silently, invisible.  
  
I smile. I manage to smile as I enter the class. The professor doesn't look up. Doesn't remonstrate with me. Did he even notice I wasn't here? I sigh. My books fall to the desk as I sit down. My partner doesn't look up. He's stirring a potion. I gaze at him, doesn't he see? Him of all? He should. But he doesn't. He looks at me. A little look. A little smile. It tugs at my heart. Why can't I let him close? Why couldn't I? "All right?" he smiles. 'NO!' I want to scream. 'NO! I'm not all right! Can't you see?' I nod, and smile. "Fine," I whisper. Just fine. Always fine, always okay. I stare at my book for the rest of the class, looking but not seeing. The emptiness has settled in my mind and I can't bring myself to concentrate. I feel. bored. frustrated. I want to run and jump and scream and shout. But the emptiness is holding me back, dragging me down. I almost don't notice the end of the lesson, but he pokes me in the arm. Grinning, he's always grinning. "Coming?" he asks. I nod. I stand up, gathering my books. I didn't even look at them. He turns and talks to the others as they leave. I'm left lagging behind and no one turns when I stop. They're going to the great hall. To lunch. I don't follow. Will they notice? Will they care? No, I shake my head slightly. That was it. That was the test. They failed.  
  
It's just one more step, one more and I'll be there. One more. It's quiet here. There's no one in the common room, I had to shout to wake the fat lady from her doze. There's no one in the dormitory. I sit on the edge of the bed, thinking. Remembering. The first time I arrived here. The first time he came to me here. The last time he came to me here; the time I told him not to come back. Scared. Afraid. I pushed him away. Pushed him away, though I'd wanted him, though he'd wanted me. And now, nothing. I cannot think of anything more. I stare, watching the patterns the rain casts on the window. My mind roves, trying to find something. Trying to feel something. Nothing. If there is nothing, is there any point in trying anymore? Is there any point in struggling further? I stop hesitating, my hand moving towards the pillow. "No," I whisper calmly, "No, there's no point."  
  
I lift the pillow, revealing the secret beneath. A small piece of glass. Tiny. Insignificant. A broken mirror had provided it. They didn't notice. No one ever did. Tiny. Insignificant. Sharp. I lift my robe, pull the sock down my leg, examine the skin on my knee and thigh. Tiny silver lines criss- cross one another. An intricate pattern of curves and sharp lines. I smile. There is no room. No room for another pretty scar. The others would be spoiled. Ruined. I pull down the other sock. Examine the other knee. This one is clear. but. why spoil it? Why spoil the white flesh, the soft curves? Hadn't he said it was pure? Pure like white snow? I feel myself scowling. He was different. He was the one I didn't want. He had got close. Too close. I couldn't push him away.  
  
I roll back the sleeve of my robe, examining the soft whiteness of my wrist and arm. Why not? Do it properly this time? I would feel it. See it. Then I would know. Then they would know. Then he would know, they both would - the one I wanted, and the one I hadn't. The one who I had pushed away, and the one who had pushed himself on me. My hand shakes as I raise the little piece of glass. I steady myself. I can do this. Will. Drawing it across the skin brings a puckering of beads of blood. It stings. I feel it. There is something now. The nothingness is gone. I cab feel this. I place the glass back, press harder. That's good - I can really feel that. It stings. But I can feel it. Feel something.  
I sink to the bed, weary now that I have given in to my subconscious. Why go on? Why try harder than I have already? Haven't I tried hard enough? I bite my lip, holding back a sob, shaking my head. I'm more than that; I'm braver than that. But am I? Is it brave to give in - to give up? Isn't that the cowards' way out? I shake my head again, try to stand up.  
  
'I'm not a coward,' I mutter, gritting my teeth, 'I'm not.'  
  
But I can't, can't stand up. My legs will not obey my commands, they shake beneath me, not just my legs; my whole body shakes. I realise suddenly how cold I am, how numb. Does it really matter? What does it matter if I die a coward? Would they care? Would they notice?  
  
'But I care,' I hear a small voice whispering, my own, as I close my eyes, giving in to fatigue. 'This isn't how I want it to end.' But there is no strength left. I've forced myself forwards for so long, so long. And now? Now is the time to sleep, to rest, to give in. A coward? Perhaps. But I haven't the strength to be anything else, not now, not anymore. I lay back watching as the black stain spreads across the quilt. It feels wrong. I can't feel anything again. There's nothing there. Nothing. And no one. Invisible. 


End file.
